


Easter egg for Keeping Secrets

by Eva



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eva/pseuds/Eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing but feather-sorting and smut.  Seriously, heed the rating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easter egg for Keeping Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Uhh, yeah. Wing!porn, because there are over 100 kudos on Keeping Secrets and surely that merits celebration. Warning for a bit of pain!kink--sometimes Gabe likes it rough.

*********

Gabriel sits with his arms around the back of the plush, armless chair, right cheek resting resting on the top, blinking slowly at Mycroft, who has just walked in the door, umbrella swinging a bit jauntily--a good day, in that a crisis that would have generated several more had been averted. A better day, in that Gabriel is here, now, waiting patiently on the chair he only uses when he wishes his feathers sorted.

“‘Evening,” Gabriel says, and yawns. Mycroft sets the umbrella in its stand, leaves jacket, shoes, and briefcase strewn along the way, marking a path to the dim sitting room.

“Difficult day?” Mycroft asks, resting his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder as he leans in for a kiss. Gabriel’s smile is warm, sleepy; both are reflected in the slow, wet kiss he gives.

“Not for any good reason, but yeah.” He yawns again and Mycroft moves to stand behind him, gently massaging his shoulders and neck, making Gabriel hum with pleasure. “Your brother is a pest.”

“Isn’t he?” Mycroft tilts Gabriel’s head back, studies his expression. “He solved it, though.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes and then sighs, deeply and happily, as Mycroft urges him to rest against Mycroft’s body as he works on the buttons of Gabriel’s shirt. “You’re wonderful; you know that?”

“I’ll even surprise Sherlock with a visit tomorrow, and remind him to play nice,” Mycroft says, and laughs as Gabriel catches one of his hands to kiss it. “Let me finish.”

“No arguments here.”

Mycroft pulls Gabriel’s shirt off with care, unable to keep from smiling at the lovely stretch of skin revealed to him. He kisses the nape of Gabriel’s neck and takes a moment to breathe deeply, eyelids fluttering shut. “Mm. You showered.”

“Obvious,” Gabriel mocks.

“Lovely,” Mycroft counters, and kisses his ear, nips at the lobe.

“Enough anticipation,” Gabriel says, wrapping his arms around the back of the chair again. Mycroft watches the play of muscles under skin and backs up just a bit, laying his hands flat on Gabriel’s shoulder blades. “Oh.”

“Foreplay is important,” Mycroft says loftily, and rubs his palms on Gabriel’s shoulder blades with long, smooth strokes, stilling Gabriel’s laughter and earning lovely little gasps instead. It’s still difficult for him to let go easily, and Mycroft puts a little more pressure into it before Gabriel’s wings burst into reality, sudden and startling; Mycroft is never ready for it, no matter how many times he’s seen it. The arc of feathers takes his breath away.

“Oh,” Gabriel says again, resting his forehead on the top of the chair. His shoulders have tensed, but there is no pain there; it’s been long months since he flinched from the slightest touch.

Mycroft takes a moment to collect himself, then uses just the pads of his fingertips to sweep over the marginal and secondary coverts, down to the secondaries themselves. The wings twitch, ever so gently, and Mycroft leans close to breathe on the joints, ruffling tiny, downy feathers, making Gabriel squirm in his chair and gasp, “Mycroft, please--”

He doesn’t say please what; Mycroft stretches his arms out wide, digs his fingers into the primaries, and presses his mouth to the left wing joint, sucking hard as Gabriel cries out. His wings flare wide and shake; Gabriel’s voice is muffled abruptly and Mycroft thinks he’s bitten the chair, which is, of course, why they chose a padded one in the first place.

Mycroft draws back and focuses on the left wing, carefully teasing through the feathers and laying them flat, mouthing the far wing joint and biting oh so gently as Gabriel whimpers and begs. “Oh, please, please, fuck--”

He stops long before he wants to; Mycroft has become very skilled at recognising when Gabriel’s threshold for sensation is approaching, and is careful not to push it too far too soon. He gently ruffles, then settles the primary coverts; tickles the alula just a bit. Gabriel settles, though he is still breathing harshly, and Mycroft sets to work on the right wing.

It takes under an hour, now that they work on them often: sometimes three or four times a week, depending on their schedules. Some days it is just sorting; today, Mycroft thinks with a smile, it will be a bit more.

As the tension slowly leaves his shoulders, Gabriel sighs, and Mycroft kisses his neck again, leans close and feels the radiant, almost alarming heat of his wings. He whispers, “Upstairs?”

“Could do with a bit more attention,” Gabriel says, shrugging his wings and shooting Mycroft a sharp look over his shoulder. “I’ll still be up for, well, upstairs. After.”

“Perhaps I want to give them a bit more attention upstairs,” Mycroft says, and watches Gabriel swallow, his eyes go wide and dark at the words. Mycroft rarely touches Gabriel’s wings during sex; he doesn’t have that much control, and tends to get rather grabby. But Gabriel loves it, even when he’s left crying and cursing; Mycroft isn’t sure what that says about either of them. That Gabriel likes it, and that Mycroft sometimes likes it, too.

They stumble upstairs together, to the master bedroom, Gabriel carefully angling his wings along the way. He finishes undressing quickly and moves to help Mycroft with his buttons, smiling mischievously at Mycroft’s protests.

“You mustn’t just rip them off--Gabriel!”

“Hand slipped.”

Mycroft kisses him hard, holding his jaw with both hands, very nearly distracting him from his mission to divest Mycroft of belt and trousers. Gabriel maneuvers them around, pushes Mycroft down on the bed, and yanks his trousers and pants down, ignoring Mycroft’s laughing admonishment, “Be careful!”

“You can get undressed in under ten minutes,” Gabriel informs him with a rather superior look on his face.

Mycroft sits up. “Ah, but how quickly can you unmake the bed?”

Blankets and pillows are tossed every which way, and Mycroft lies down again, on his back, sighing in pleasure as Gabriel straddles him. His wings flare, helping him balance, as he leans down to kiss Mycroft, their bodies brushing together slowly, almost incidentally, until Gabriel gives a deliberate little twist of his hips and Mycroft thrusts up to meet him.

He reaches out to touch Gabriel’s left wing and is surprised when Gabriel catches his hand, pushes it back down to the bed. “Gabriel?”

“Not yet.” And Gabriel kisses him again, slow, hot, incredibly sweet, shifting to hold Mycroft’s other hand down as well, putting his weight into it. Mycroft shivers in his grasp.

He’s not ready when Gabriel sits up, wings flaring and making him shiver again from the sudden, cool breeze. “Up, up.”

“What?” Mycroft sits, earns himself a sly grin, and groans as Gabriel slides against him. Gabriel grabs the pillows, pushes them behind Mycroft and pushes him back, until he’s half-sitting, half-reclining against the headboard. “You planned this, you little tease.”

“Not teasing at all,” Gabriel says breathlessly, and shifts so that Mycroft’s cock is pressing just so against his ass.

“Wait,” Mycroft gasps, and fumbles for the nightstand. They can’t, of course, keep anything in the drawer as they do at Gabriel’s flat, so there is a small box that rests atop which contains condoms and lubricant.

He rolls the condom on quickly and touches Gabriel carefully; he’s already stretched, even a bit slick. Mycroft asks, breathing heavily, “You’re ready; in the shower? How very, ah--very optimistic of you.”

“Dress for the sex you want to have,” Gabriel says, laughing, before he sinks down onto Mycroft’s cock. They both gasp. Mycroft closes his eyes and holds his breath, holding it in, holding himself in check. When the overwhelming pleasure, the heat and lust driving him, abate enough that he dares to open his eyes again, he sees Gabriel’s head thrown back, mouth open, chest heaving, and his wings are shaking, flared to their furthest reach.

Mycroft reaches out with the hand that is still slick with lubricant and grasps Gabriel’s cock, groaning when Gabriel cries out, loudly, and thrusts up into his grip. He sinks back down, Mycroft almost keening with pleasure, and then pushes back up, hands moving to Mycroft’s shoulders to help him balance. Mycroft uses his free hand to pull Gabriel closer, leans up himself, and kisses him hard. Then he moves his hand to Gabriel’s back and roughly rakes his nails through the thick scapulars, the feathers closest to the shoulder blade.

Gabriel screams into their kiss, moving faster, digging his nails into Mycroft’s shoulders. His cock pulses in Mycroft’s hand but he doesn’t come yet, holding out for more, the kiss turning desperate. His wings curl in and Mycroft tugs hard on the furthest primaries, as if he’s trying to pull them out, and pulls away from the kiss to bite Gabriel’s shoulder, then his neck--

Gabriel’s final cry is wordless; he comes hard, shaking and almost crying, mouthing desperately at Mycroft’s shoulder, licking and sucking and scraping the skin with his teeth. Mycroft, as always, follows shortly after, as Gabriel stops shaking so hard, curls into him, holding tight. He thrusts up once, twice before he comes; Gabriel gasps each time, but squeezes around him obligingly.

“So lovely,” Mycroft murmurs, wiping his hand clean on the sheets and petting both of Gabriel’s wings with long, delicate strokes of his palms. Gabriel groans, shifting and squirming against him; Mycroft relishes his weight. Solid, strong, and so very real.

Tension rises in the set of Gabriel’s shoulders and he watches, gauges it carefully, ending each stroke just as the wings begin to quiver in reaction. “Oh,” Gabriel breathes, and slumps on his chest. “So good.”

“You’re welcome,” Mycroft says as Gabriel shifts, lets his cock slip out.

“You’re welcome,” Gabriel says, stressing the first word and then yawning. “Ah, you’ll have to help me put these away before you can be my pillow.”

“What an offer,” Mycroft says dryly, but honestly, he’s quite looking forward to it.

*********


End file.
